


Let It Snow

by SarahW



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahW/pseuds/SarahW
Summary: Ever since his long-forgotten childhood, snow has evoked nothing but painful and dishonorable memories for The Prince of All Saiyans.That is until, one fine day, a little blue-haired beauty will introduce him to an exotic Earth celebration, forever changing the meaning of such an event for him and creating brand new memories along the way.A collection of Christmas prompts that will narrate the story of our favorite couple through the years, from the early days of their unexpected romance, to their new life as a devoted family.





	1. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the dark of a snowy night, Bulma offers her alien guest a little taste of a deliciously comforting Earth beverage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, I promised myself that I'd try to write some Christmas prompts for all of you this year, and here I am!
> 
> This will be a series of prompts that will occur in chronological order, taking place from the "3 Year Gap", to their later years as parents, and they will also be interconnected to each other.
> 
> I have a few planned already, but we'll see how many I'm able to write. I'll try to be as productive as I can, I promise!
> 
> I've never written anything Holiday-related before, so I hope I can pull it off and that you'll enjoy it!

 

He awoke with a breathless startle from an edgy dream, one of those dark, convoluted nightmares incessantly plaguing his broken mind, ever since he’d been confined to the claustrophobic walls of the tiny infirmary that had been his home during the past seven days.

Such unforgiving nightmares were nothing new, in fact, Vegeta could hardly recall a time when he wasn’t haunted by dishonorable memories and impossible expectations, the unbearable burden of an inescapable past, and the agonizing frustration of a Golden Goal that seemed more out of reach today than it ever was.

This time, however, as he shifted painfully in the surprisingly comfortable bed where someone must have lied him down during his state of unconsciousness, he couldn’t help but to grudgingly admit to himself that his torturous hallucinations had reached insufferable heights, leaving him feeling more and more exhausted as days went by, shattering and paralyzing him, in spite of having been humiliatingly restricted to bedrest for only the Gods knew how long.   

His weary eyes blinked dozily in the shadows, struggling to return to the surreal trap that was Reality, leaving behind that frenzied pandemonium of blurry images and confusing memoirs, diabolical reminiscences of the fallen Monster who was once his Master, chaotically entangled with the mortifying images of a Saiyan nemesis that he couldn’t defeat, and of a young, mysterious boy who possessed, not only the impossible power to travel throughout time and space, but the mystical ability to Ascend to a Legendary Status that looked as if it’d been bestowed upon everyone but him.

The Prince took a long, ragged breath, squinting in confusion at the minuscule, flamboyant dots of sparkly lights twinkling in the ceiling, their colorful playfulness a vast contrast with the thunderous drum of his agitated heartbeat, and with the calm, familiar sounds of the vulnerable creature keeping him company in his darkest hour, the enigmatic woman stubbornly refusing to give up on him, even if, at times, he still dreadfully wished that she’d just leave him to die in some hidden, forgotten corner of the luxurious home which she’d inexplicably offered to him.

_Bulma._

All he had to do was turn his glance to his side and, sure enough, there _she_ was, small and fragile, impossibly warm, curled up sleepily in the improvised armchair that she’d placed by his side, with the one and only purpose of saving him from his own suicidal stupidity.

When Vegeta had finally landed back on Earth, after a long, unsuccessful quest in search of the third-class warrior who’d selfishly taken Frieza’s life, not only had the strange little woman welcomed him with open arms, but she also had, perhaps unwittingly, given him a tempting glimpse of the bewitching kind of beauty that her planet had to offer.

Through the lukewarm balminess of spring, followed by the suffocating heat of summer, Vegeta had found himself, against his better judgement, falling into the alluring spell that seemed to follow the beautiful scientist wherever she went, developing a singular, almost obsessive fascination with the odd female who’d, quite literally, barged into his life as if she’d always been meant to be an intrinsic part of it.     

His days had become a gruesome anarchy, a turbid routine of drawn-out, punitive training sessions, alternated with handfuls of sporadic hours of restless sleep, all of it sprinkled with the constant, inescapable presence of the radiant woman running his life with an iron fist dressed in the finest silk.

Whether she was barking at him in the middle of her messy laboratory, screeching like a little hellcat while complaining about his utter lack of respect towards the magnificent inventions that were allowing him to grow in strength at a surprising rate, or whether she remained completely silent, patching up his battered body in the dark, quiet solitude of her home’s small infirmary, the siren’s magnetic pull had simply become too powerful to be ignored.

His usual darkness had been suddenly invaded by luminous sparks of blue, by bouncy curls and indecently short dresses, and by a pair of creamy thighs, openly exposed to his flustered eyes during those frequent repairs of his beloved Gravity Room, which had made him wonder, more than once, if Fate had sent the enticing woman his way to keep punishing him relentlessly for every single sin committed during his dissolute past.

It was impossible to escape her vibrant laughter, or the way her pretty brow furrowed in concern whenever those wide eyes of hers discovered one of his new bleeding wounds as they crossed paths at Capsule Corp.’s long hallways. The proud, majestic way in which her clenched fists found her hips every time she chastised him, for one reason or another, made it hard to pay actual attention to her girlish banter, and Vegeta had already lost count of just how many times he’d felt the uncontrollable need to run the tip of his tongue across her tiny bellybutton, every time the goddamned woman took a break from her demanding workhours, lounging by the extravagant swimming pool in one of those lewd attires which she called _‘bikinis’_.

And it wasn’t his newfound interest towards the odd creature what bothered him the most, an uncomfortable, primitive desire to take their already dangerous proximity to an even riskier level. It was the intimate suspicion that the stunning female might be willing to reciprocate, if only he let it be known that he wouldn’t be opposed to getting a little taste of whatever magic she had to offer, especially now that it looked like the weakling loser who used to be her _mate_ had been kicked out of her life, for good this time.      

Vegeta had already caught glimpses of those sparkly blue eyes frequently peeking at him with candid curiosity, or the way those small, skillful hands lingered on his naked flesh long after she was done stitching and healing his sore gashes, her touch so kind, so heartbreakingly gentle, that the warrior could have sworn to feel an anxious heat spreading through his cheeks, matching exactly the same shade of crimson of the adorable blush embellishing her face whenever he allowed himself the forbidden luxury of staring at her for far too long.

On one particular occasion, the memory of her bare foot casually resting atop his as she sat beside him by the flourished garden, taking advantage of a scarce break from his taxing training regime to show him a set of blueprints for those new bots which she was designing specially for him, had ended up replacing one of his nightly, terrifying nightmares. He dreamt of blue and red summer dresses, of the passionate quality taking hold of her harmonious voice whenever she was given the chance to describe her groundbreaking inventions, and of that pale, velvety knee delicately brushing against his as she’d joined him that evening under the respiting shadow of her garden’s largest tree.    

The temptation to give into his basest desires was proving to be irresistible, yet Vegeta was no fool, and he knew all too well that an intimate relationship of any sorts could be the Kiss of Death for a lonesome, independent fighter like himself, and that _nothing_ good would ever come out of getting involved with the natural born seductress that was Bulma Briefs.

All in all, it was virtually a miracle that the Prince had somehow succeeded in keeping his urges in check for as long as he had, and he’d barely been able to suppress his relief when the smothering summertime heat had begun to gradually wane, giving place to a cooler climate that would oblige the attractive woman to put some blasted clothes on, once and for all, covering up that inviting body that she enjoyed flaunting so much, taking mercy on him, and giving his overexcited senses a much-needed break from her provocative aura.

But tonight, as his lethargic eyes drank in every inch of the minute figure curled into a tiny bundle of fuzzy cashmere, sleeping soundly by his side with not one care in the world, the time had come to admit that it wasn’t her flesh what intrigued him the most, but something else, that inscrutable _something_ that kept pulling him towards her, like the darkest butterfly to the most brilliant of flames.

She was all curves and gentle exuberance, an impudent curl hiding one of her eyes from him as she lay down on her side in a bended position, holding a bizarre, metallic object protectively against her chest as her wriggly toes, dressed in a pair of pink woolen socks, fidgeted on and off in her sleep. The healthy rose of her cheeks made her look lovelier than ever, and never had Vegeta wished to know the meaning of a word more than when her fleshy lips pouted in that soft slumber, mumbling a hint of unfinished, whispery words whose meaning would forever remain a mystery, perhaps even to herself.

There was a hypnotic softness about her, a mellow, highly-squeezable softness that spurred within him the potent urge to pull from the oversized sleeve of her cozy sweater, and bring her to the bed with him, asking himself what it would be like to hold that petite body in his arms, and whether a man would ever find the strength to let go from the refuge that he knew he’d find in her warmness.

He wasn’t entirely sure of just how long he’d lied there gawking at the dreamy woman like an idiotic child, but he did know that the thin line suddenly wrinkling her nose as she stirred in her sleep was all he needed to take his greedy eyes off her before the astute female would surely discover his shameful weakness.  

So, he chose to focus instead on the peculiar scene taking place outside the four oppressive walls still keeping him prisoner, on the bizarre plethora of tiny, multicolored lights inexplicably covering the enormous walls of Bulma’s residence and, above all, on the ghostly emotion overcoming him at the proverbial flood of powdery flakes falling from the icy skies.

“ _Boy_ …” Bulma’s honied voice murmured woozily. “It’s snowing…” She whispered in awe, the touch of surprise lacing her tone revealing that this was a new occurrence tonight.

Vegeta’s puzzled gaze briefly returned to the beautiful earthling, and to the slender arms lazily stretching above her head, as if striving to touch the impossibly high ceilings of the narrow room, before finding the mass of curls that was her glossy hair, carelessly running her long fingers through it in a poor attempt at disciplining its untamed madness.

“Had you ever seen snow before?” She asked with a fond smile, and a surprising spontaneity that made it hard to believe that they hadn’t exchanged a word for a whole week.

“I have,” he answered simply, a pensive demeanor invading his face as his eyes got lost amongst the white blizzard swirling around outside.

“Ah, really?” Bulma instantly shot back, ingenuously ignoring the somberness hiding behind his reserved reply. “Back in your home planet?”

“No.”

_“…”_

 

A fleeting silence enveloped them both, one of those short, terribly awkward silences ensuing every single time the intrepid woman ventured to ask questions whose answer she did _not_ , in truth, wish to know. One of those silences in which the Saiyan could almost _feel_ her pearly teeth biting on the tip of her nosy tongue, stopping herself from crossing that faint line that Vegeta had learnt to walk for a living, that impenetrable barrier of sordid secrets and half-truths, such as the painful fact that he’d been far too young when his first recollection of this so-called _‘snow’_ had taken place, and that all he needed to know about such a traumatic event was that it all occurred while he was captive on Frieza’s home planet.

“My Dad checked on you a few hours ago,” Bulma carefully informed, wise enough to both change the subject and update the hard-working warrior on when he’d be well enough to resume his training. “You’ve been out for almost a week, you know?” She explained, her not-so-subtle tone of reproach making Vegeta smirk inwardly to himself, having grown accustomed by now to the overprotectiveness of the silly woman fidgeting clumsily in her chair. “You had some really deep gashes in your chest, and they got infected,” she further described. “And your fever was very high, so my Dad gave you some antibiotics and some sedatives, because you kept thrashing about in bed so much…”

She halted her words for a second, lowering her glance absentmindedly as she kept fiddling with the silvery object now resting on her lap, the melancholic gleam in her usually cheerful eye sparking a rush of apprehension down the warrior’s spine, the chilling fear that he may have perhaps been talking in his sleep, just the way he used to when he was younger and far more inexperienced, constantly lectured by Nappa about the dangerously defenseless position he’d put himself in if he ever permitted complete strangers to spy on him in a state of utter unconsciousness.

“Anyway…” She sighed tiredly, with the exhaustion of a woman who’d been watching over a man for much longer than he deserved. “Dad said you’ll be able to get out of bed by tomorrow, so that’s good, right?” Bulma patiently briefed, carrying on with her girlish chatter without even waiting for his expected reply. “Oh, and I brought you this!” She announced, taking the mysterious object in her hands once again before proudly offering it to him, smiling in understanding at the confused frown creasing the Saiyan’s brow, who clearly hadn’t the faintest clue as to what it was that she was talking about. “It’s hot chocolate,” she clarified. “My Mom made a huge batch today, so I thought I’d bring you some… It’s really nice… Would you like to try?”

Vegeta remained silent for a long second, staring in bewilderment at the enigmatic little female with the expectant smile on the lips, realizing, not for the first time, that it was very possible that he’d never fully unravel the sphinx that was her mind.

When she’d first told him about how sick he’d truly been those last few days, he’d half-expected her to yell and bicker, to scold him like she always did, furiously reprimanding him for his temerity, and for the absolute disregard that he had, not only towards his precarious health, but even towards his own life. But there was no bickering tonight, nothing but sympathy and a rare sadness that insinuated that, either the woman was too drained to argue, or some secretive ailment was troubling her kindhearted spirit.

His eyes then travelled to the shimmery flask in her hands, distinctly recalling having already tasted this _‘chocolate’_ food back during the sunny season, and concluding that, if he’d thoroughly enjoyed it in its cold version, there was no reason why it shouldn’t taste just as delicious when it was hot. Besides, the idea of settling his empty stomach with something warm and sweet sounded like Heaven, especially after having abstained from any solid nourishment for a full seven days.     

“I think you’ll really like it,” Bulma muttered with shy confidence, hopeful smile widening, pleased to see him slowly sitting on the bed on his own accord. “I put some caramel in it,” she confessed in a cheeky whisper, shaking the small flask a few times before removing the cap, which also served as a serving cup, and eagerly pouring him a glassful of the creamy beverage. “Caramel is my favorite, you’ll see…”   

Their fingers touched as he reached for the improvised mug, the contact brief, _electrifying_ , and all he could do was waste no time in bringing the rich drink to his thirsty lips, doing his best to ignore the sharp shiver shaking his weak body to the bone, and the foreign emotion burning in his chest when she joined him on the bed, sitting beside him as if it were the most natural act in the world.

He hummed softly as the heavenly drink melted in his mouth, smooth and syrupy, almost as much as the woman who’d brought it for him, and who kept waiting for his approval, in hopes that he’d praise her for making just the right choice for him.

“So?” Bulma asked smugly, already enjoying her little victory when she noticed the way his features softened in response to the drink’s comforting flavor. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s… _Acceptable_ …” Vegeta mumbled sheepishly, reluctant to admit that this _‘hot chocolate’_ stuff was a pretty damn good invention.

She could have grumbled about his idiotic attitude, that stupid Saiyan pride that stopped him from openly complimenting her about even the most insignificant matter but, tonight, she chose a carefree giggle instead, visibly amused by his grumpy antics.

“I knew you’d like it…” She beamed at him, proceeding to graciously refill his already empty cup. “Those are our Christmas lights,” Bulma calmly explained, following his line of vision as he examined, through the large glass window, the strange amalgam of lively lights covering up nearly the entire building outside.

“Christmas?” He inquired with plain interest, clearly fascinated by what looked like another one of those exotic human traditions, undoubtedly, just as outlandish and pointless as all the others.

“Oh… You’ve never celebrated Christmas before, right?” She asked rhetorically, sensibly reminding herself that the half-naked, injured man sitting quietly on the bed was as alien as he could be. “Well… Christmas is… It’s an Earth celebration…” Bulma began to describe, observing the splashy lights through wistful eyes. “People celebrate it in different ways, I guess… Here at home we have a nice dinner on Christmas Eve, and then a big lunch on Christmas Day. Though we’re all pretty full by then…” She chuckled lightly, turning around and setting her naughty sights on him. “Mom cooks _tons_ of yummy food…”

Bulma peeped at his newly emptied cup, caring hands serving him the remaining of the soothing hot chocolate, completely oblivious to the knowing twinkle shining in the eye of the coldhearted warrior who usually cared about no one other than himself.

It was self-evident by now that the woman was making the effort to put on a good show, and yet, there was a poignant sorrow about her, a rare anguish betraying the apparent coolness of someone casually describing what, by all means, seemed to be some kind of joyous celebration.

“So…?” She asked timidly, sapphire eyes falling like those of a cute, needy puppy. “Will you come?”

The steaming cup froze just as he was about to bring it to his famished mouth, deeply moved by the raw vulnerability of the usually spunky woman. If there was one, just _one_ valuable lesson that the Prince had learnt throughout his dark, tumultuous life, was that the easiest way not to break a promise was to never make one to begin with, another priceless bit of knowledge being that, regardless of how much sporadic generosity he may encounter along the way, he’d never, _ever_ , owe anything or anyone a goddamned thing.

Attending this blasted _‘Christmas Dinner’_ , whatever the Hell it meant anyway, shouldn’t be such a hard decision to make. After all, Vegeta had already settled into the habit of joining the Briefs family for dinner with more or less regularity, and the only real difference would be an increase in the quantity and quality of the already mouthwatering Earth food, something that a ravenous Saiyan like himself would never be opposed to.

But making a promise to the sensitive creature, who kept looking at him as if he were even the shadow of an honorable man, would set a _very_ dangerous precedent indeed, particularly if this Winter celebration held a sentimental significance of some sort, which was precisely _why_ Vegeta would never find, no matter how hard he tried, a reasonable explanation for the words of hope that left his mouth, and even less for the small act of generosity that he chose to gift the little woman with.

“Perhaps I will…” He murmured with astounding modesty, his stare low, scowling at the tasty beverage keeping his fingers warm, not even believing himself what he was about to do.

_He offered it to her._

 

It took Bulma a solid minute to fully grasp what Vegeta was doing, and the incredible meaning behind such a gesture of benevolence, a kindness that she really needed tonight, even if she didn’t even know it yet.

Vestiges of something warm and uncomfortable tightened in the warrior’s throat when her eyebrows rose in surprise, reaching for the tiny cup and blowing softly with prudent lips, taking great care not to burn her tongue before taking a long, satisfying sip of the comforting drink.

“Thank you, Vegeta…” She whispered with gratitude, breaking into a timid smile as she gave the still almost-full mug back to him.

Vegeta nodded in acceptance, taking another slow sip of his own, trying to prolong such a pleasurable instant while quietly observing the earthling, who had now abandoned the empty flask on the wooden nightstand, and her secretive metamorphosis.

She was the vivid picture of melancholy, with those minuscule feet placed at the edge of his sad mattress, arms wrapped around her bent legs, an elegant chin resting on the knees nimbly pressed against her chest, and an ocean of kaleidoscopic lights reflected on the heartsick eyes contemplating the festive lights, whose vibrant glow kept illuminating the dark room protecting them both from the wild snowfall pouring outside.

“My Dad helped me out with the lights this time,” Bulma confessed in a husky murmur, making the brave choice to unveil the real reason behind her grief, even if she knew that the lonesome man silently listening to her troubles probably wouldn’t even care. “Yamcha used to… H-He…” Her voice broke as she stuttered, earning the Saiyan’s admiration when she took a deep breath, proudly composing herself as she dared to bare her broken heart to him. “He used to… To be the one who helped me, but… _You know_ …” She shrugged dejectedly, the way one talked to a long-time friend, rather than to a man who still remained a virtual stranger to her in far too many ways. “I guess things will be different around here from now on…”

The Prince said nothing, feeling just as empty as the cup nestled in his bruised hands, undeniably useless when it came to matters of the heart, or about anything other than battle and utter destruction, for that matter, so he simply gaped at her like an infatuated idiot, burying, deep in the pit of his sick stomach, the outrageous need to pound the weakling bastard to death for dimming the light of those gorgeous blue eyes.

“I think you should get some rest, don’t you think?” She gently advised him, honoring him with an oddly charming, misty-eyed smile, and taking the empty cap away from his limp hands, glad to see him following her instructions without making a fuss, if only for once in his stubborn life.

Bulma shifted slightly on the bed as he lay back down, carefully assisting him in covering up with the snug blankets, a familiar habit which had turned into an intimate ritual these days. And, though this was supposed to be the time when she usually said her goodnights and left him to some much-needed rest, tonight, the lifeless woman didn’t budge a bit.

“Vegeta…” She murmured in the dark, her voice shy, _subdued_ , her body looking smaller than ever, nothing but a doleful silhouette languishing into the night. “Do you…? Do you mind if I…? If I stay with you for a bit?” She finally risked asking. “It’s just that… Everyone in the lab is already on vacation, and… And Mom and Dad went out for dinner… And I just… I don’t know…” She exhaled a long, raggedy breath, the faint sound of her throat bobbing as she swallowed an anxious sob piercing his ears like the loudest cry. “I guess I just… I just feel a bit lonely tonight…”    

He stiffened at once under the covers, his body as tense as a wire, and those beaten onyx eyes losing their way across the myriad of gaudy sparks floating before him while his stare remained fixated on the ceiling.

_Lonely._

The woman was feeling lonely, and out of all the goddamned people inhabiting the beautiful blue rock that she called home, she’d chosen _him_ as the one to keep her company, the one to ease that heavy burden of solitude that a man like him had become accustomed to carrying around, like a second skin, for far too long by now.  

_Bad idea._

It was a bad, _bad_ idea to let the woman in, to let her in in the shameful secret that he may have been, against all odds, finding himself enjoying her quirky company too much for his own good. The only reason why he’d somehow managed to keep his crippled sanity intact, ever since she’d boldly invited herself into his miserable existence, had been through spartan self-control, and through that endless war of playful bickering and sharp sarcasm that they’d both seemingly embraced like the most natural way of life.

His remote coldness was all he had left to protect whatever was left of his wounded ego from being shattered to pieces, and yet, even when every fiber of his being was _screaming_ , begging for him to man up and send her away, he couldn’t. Not when she kept sitting in the dark like a trampled pup, waiting for someone, _anyone_ , to give her some measly crumbs of affection, anything to make her tender wounds sting just a little less.

“Do as you wish…” Vegeta rasped in the most distant voice he could muster, choosing his words with the meticulous precision of a warning, the desperate warning of a man feeling the world as he’d always known it crumbling beneath his feet, letting the alluring woman know that if she dared, if she truly _dared_ to spark the fire, she alone would be the one responsible for the flames of desire that would consume them both.    

And he could have sworn to hear the most relieved sigh escape her lips, not long before the plush mattress hemmed and hawed as she joined him under the covers, her feminine litheness opposing the unbearable pressure narrowing his chest when the fuzzy fabric of her girly socks lightly touched his bare legs.

“Thank you, Vegeta…” She whispered again, her naïve gratitude slicing him in half, _raw_ , exposed, thick fingers clutching a fistful of expensive cotton sheets as he kept staring sternly at the incandescent ceiling. “I’ll just stay for a little bit…” She promised in a sleepy slur, making the Prince wonder how the Devil was it possible for her to drift off so darned easily when he was but a pathetic bundle of nerves. “ _Just a bit_ …”

For a good handful of minutes, his eyes kept obstinately avoiding the sleeping figure snuggling closely against him, closing his eyes in a hopeless attempt at dropping off with as much effortlessness as the carefree creature.

But sleep wouldn’t come, and all he could do was ramble, losing himself in the sibilant sounds of the rough wind twirling outside, letting his restless mind travel a sinuous, forbidden journey into his own tortured past, and into the faded memories of a homeless child stranded on an alien planet, made out of ashen ice and evil monsters who stole the innocence of lost little boys in the middle of the night.

There was a reason, far too many good reasons to count, that would explain the gloom reigning over his numb spirit whenever he was in the presence of a dull mantle of snow, yet he couldn’t find one, not even _one_ reason why the dark memoirs of his youth were vanishing at the childlike sounds of the soft breathing caressing his ear with silky finesse.

His flesh was weak, her temptation too hard to resist and, before he could even consider the dangerous implications of his actions, he was pushing his exhausted body to cross his own boundaries, rolling tiredly on his side and meeting face to face with the ethereal beauty curled up into a little drowsy ball.

She smelled of hot chocolate and white flowers, and of fragrant, exotic spices whose foreign qualities she’d recite for him if only he let her. And she smiled in her sleep for him, _just_ for him, when two of his fingers found the cherubic curve of her face, languidly tracing that perfect line from the tip of her cheekbone to her delicate jaw, reluctantly letting go of her, lest she woke up and discovered what a reckless fool he was at heart.

He brought those shameless fingers to his mouth, pressing them against his parched lips as he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and letting himself go, dreaming of bright lights and alien celebrations, and of unattainable Earth women who were just as painfully lonely as he was, generous little creatures who could scatter the perverse Demons of a man’s crushed spirit with the only help of a sugary drink and a timid smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh*
> 
> Well... There it was! I hope you liked it?
> 
> The next story will take place at Christmas Eve! Thanks so much for reading, as always!


	2. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta decides to accept Bulma's invitation, joining her and her loved ones for her mysterious Christmas Eve celebrations, and encountering a few unanticipated events along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, here's the second prompt!
> 
> I'm sorry it took a bit longer than I was hoping for, but I've had a really bad flu, and I've literally written this one in bed. I had a little story planned for this fic, but now I wonder if I'll be able to finish all the prompts in time for Christmas. I'll just try to do my best, so please bear with me.
> 
> I'd also like to give special thanks to those of you who left feedback in the first chapter, since I wasn't entirely sure if you'd be interested in this story.
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you like this one!

A gust of frosty wind blew him in the face when he stepped outside the Gravity Room, a thick layer of snow creaking under his feet as he walked like a ghost in the dark, struggling to swallow down a familiar flood of murderous emotions that he hadn’t truly battled ever since his Master’s disgraceful downfall.

Vegeta crossed the luxurious gardens of the lavish house which he now called home, bruised hands buried in his pockets, nothing but a slouched, defeated figure, furiously lost in thought, a frenzied string of angry feelings that he couldn’t even begin to understand, much less try to make some rational sense of.

His pace was sluggish, deliberately slow, desperately striving to stretch out his arrival to the mansion’s entrance for as long as he could, all of it while praying with all his might for the scarred-faced idiot, who’d completely ruined those so-called _‘Christmas Eve’_ celebrations, to have left the place by now. He didn’t know, he _really_ didn’t know if he’d find the strength not to murder the dumb bastard in cold blood, right there and then, or if he’d even _want_ to restrain himself, not after the grotesque spectacle that he’d witnessed firsthand tonight.

The Saiyan warrior may have been well aware, at all times, of his alien condition, and there surely was an innumerable amount of ridiculous Earth customs that he wasn’t yet familiarized with but, _by the Gods_ , whatever it was that this _‘Christmas’_ celebration was supposed to be, it sure as Hell could _not_ have been about seeing the only goddamned creature who’d ever shown him any real kindness ending the evening on the verge of tears.

His feet stopped automatically a mere few steps from the dwelling’s majestic door, and he took his hands out of his pockets, blowing roughly on his stiff fingers while getting one last eyeful of the cascade of picturesque lights shamelessly hanging from the building’s smooth façade, mocking him, mocking them _all_ , announcing a deceiving happiness that never materialized, after all.

The dreadful celebrations had begun for him a few hours before the actual dinner party, with an unnervingly cheerful Panchy Briefs inviting herself into the privacy of his room, with an audacity that no sane human being would have ever dared to display. She’d proudly announced that her _‘beautiful daughter’_ was getting dressed already and, after getting a lecherous glimpse of his fully naked body, dripping wet from the shower, and only covered by a modest towel from the waist down, she’d strongly recommended that he thought about getting ready too, encouraging him to choose a formal attire for such a special occasion.

With a wardrobe mostly consisting of sportswear and loose pajama pants, the Prince had finally settled for a pair of dark blue jeans, a tight-fitting grey sweater, and the only pair of dress shoes he owned, pacing nervously from one side to the other of his bedroom for a few hesitant minutes, before making the bold choice to get out and face the music.

The Briefs home had been as bright as it could be, filled to the brim with even more colored lights, exotic plants and flashy decorations, all of it enveloped by the most mouthwatering aroma he’d ever smelled in his entire life, an intriguing combination of warm, savory dishes, and exotically sweet treats.

Vegeta walked the long corridors of the splendid first floor with cautious steps, keenly following the appetizing trail of inviting foods, while his hypersensitive Saiyan senses sharply perceived the recognizable voices of the numerous guests already gathered downstairs. He easily identified most of them as those belonging to the woman’s peculiar gang of warrior friends, together with a handful of foreign murmurs and, most disturbing of all, the absence of the one and only sound which had been captivating his typically limited interest for longer than he was willing to confess.

_Bulma’s voice._

 

When the Prince had roused from sleep in the suffocating solitude of that cold infirmary, the morning after she’d first introduced him to that lovely, comforting beverage, he’d done so utterly alone, the only evidence of the earthling’s dreamlike company being a cold, empty flask laying forgotten on the wooden nightstand, and traces of her unbelievably delicious scent spread all over his soft bedsheets _._

He’d buried his nose into the still warm pillow, showing no qualms in making the most of the only thing she’d left behind, and groaning tiredly as he wondered if the strangely intimate moment they’d both shared the previous night would have meant something to her, and whether he’d actually _want_ it to mean anything at all.

Much to Vegeta’s disappointment, things had carried on with more or less normalcy around the Briefs household from that moment on, with Bulma spending most of her time in her hectic laboratory, while he slowly eased his way into the punitive training regime that his new existence had become.

Every now and then, Bulma would make one of those routine check ups on his precious training room. And though, on the surface, her behavior towards him didn’t seem to have changed much at all, and the mysterious little female hadn’t brought up the subject ever again, the Prince had most definitely caught clear hints of that old, heartbreaking sadness in her, the very same sadness that had once pushed her to ask to share the bed of a former homicidal maniac, in the middle of the night.

The woman undoubtedly possessed a special gift for keeping herself together at all times, and yet, some of her natural spunk had gotten lost along the way, that irresistible grit always making her treat him like an equal, challenging and bumping heads with him in ways no other creature, not even those infinitely stronger than she was, would have ever risked to.

Vegeta could count with the fingers of one hand the number of times they’d lately engaged in those harmless, heated quarrels that he’d grown to enjoy so damn much, thoroughly amused by the woman’s bright spirit and brilliant sarcasm, that promising spark of blue light constantly reminding him that there was _life_ beyond everything he’d always known, a happier way of life which he may perhaps get to savor one day, once he’d achieved his promised Ascension, recovering his long-lost honor, once and for all.

But tonight, as he’d walked down the flight of stairs of his temporary home, joining the rest of the woman’s visitors at the ground floor, he’d seriously started to consider the disappointing possibility that, all this time, he’d been stupidly deluding himself into believing that he held some sort of special significance in the earthling’s life when, in reality, he was just as unimportant to her as every other chump assembled around the luxurious house.

The warrior’s irate memory could barely recall what happened in those early moments, right after he joined the idiotic celebrations, only his agitated turmoil, furious with everyone, especially with himself, for being stupid enough to care about what the silly woman, or any of her insignificant friends, really thought of him to begin with.

After all, she was just an instrument, a genius brain whose incredible inventions would allow him to reach his goals, defeat the third-class idiot that she called her _‘best friend’_ , and get out of the worthless mudball keeping him prisoner, in search of his righteous place as Universal Ruler, perhaps even burning this blasted planet to ashes on his way out, once it served no further purpose to him anymore.

Vegeta leaned cross-armed on the door frame of the main living-room, with the detached indifference of the outsider he truly knew himself to be, having the time of his life as he enjoyed his inner pity party, chewing irritably on whatever yummy appetizer was served in front of him while wondering just _where_ the Devil was the diabolical creature who’d put him in such a humiliating position, when he could have just as well been employing his valuable time into far more useful activities tonight, such as pounding his already abused body even closer to the brink of death.

He should have been _careful_ , he should have known by now that a man should treat his wishes with great care for, just as he was about to throw in the towel, ready to make a surreptitious exit from the deplorable charade that the night was quickly turning into, Mrs. Briefs’ perky voice brought him straight back to reality, making his most forbidden wishes come true with only a few, well-chosen words of admiration.

“ _Oh my!_ ” She exclaimed vivaciously, holding a half-full tray of canapés in one hand as she stared at the small figure already standing at the top of the stairs, ready to make her triumphant entrance into the night’s festivities. _“Doesn’t she look lovely tonight?”_ Panchy asked to everyone and no one in particular, the unmistakable naughtiness in her tone making the Saiyan’s hair stand on end, terrified of the irresistible temptation that he _knew_ he’d encounter when he turned his sights on the alluring woman.

 

She’d been wrong.

_Dead wrong._

_‘Lovely’_ didn’t even begin to describe just how ridiculously beautiful Bulma had looked tonight, with that demure smile glowing regally on her lips as she proceeded to cautiously walk down the stairs, her mesmerizing skill not to slip with those impossibly high heels adorning her feet hypnotizing even the coldest of men.

With each step, her spellbinding beauty got just a little closer, offering him the honor to luxuriate in every bit and every detail, in every single one of the unforgettable curves of that flawless body, hips swinging seductively, undulating like fluid water under the shimmery fabric of her electric blue dress.

Her hair, that glossy waterfall of turquoise curls that she usually enjoyed wearing down, had been tied up this time, coiffed into a stylish French twist that emphasized the elegance of her long neck, and of those long, sparkly earrings, hanging graciously from her small ears.

And, when she finally joined him on the main floor, her light hand brushing one of his tense biceps with the litheness of a breeze of fresh air, the Prince almost chocked on his shrimp cocktail when he discovered the erotically low cut of the back of that misleadingly modest gown.

He _tried_ , he desperately tried not to gawk like a fool at the way she moved, leaving his side as she worked the crowded room like a Queen, playing the part of the welcoming hostess to perfection, and greeting every one of her varied friends and distant relatives with that warmth that belonged to her alone, awakening inside of him the most bizarre sense of jealousy whenever she smiled at _anyone_ other than him.

At the beginning, Vegeta had feared for his early worries to be true, and for Bulma to end up spending the rest of the night snubbing him, or treating him purely with the same courtesy as all the others. But relief washed over him when, just as soon as she was done with her first round of introductions, she instinctively sought his presence through the crowd, shooting him the most dazzling grin as she approached him determinedly.

_“You made it!”_ She beamed at him, a bold hand finding his wrist and squeezing it with gentle reassurance, a subtle, unexpected gesture of intimacy that made his heart rabbit furiously in his chest.

Vegeta wasn’t entirely sure about what it was that she initially talked about, all he knew was how honestly happy, dare he say _grateful_ , Bulma seemed to be, infinitely happier than she’d been in the gloomy darkness of their last night together in that infernal infirmary.

She chose to spend most of her time with him, constantly making the effort to get the servers’ attention, in the hopes that her guest of honor would get to sample as many different kinds of traditional foods as possible, enlightening him about an eclectic selection of curious tales and human folklore that his poor alien mind had found wholly impossible to understand.

Even now, as the lonely Prince stood all by himself in the midst of a sad garden fully covered in snow, Vegeta had to admit that, although he’d been so overwhelmed that he could remember not even one of such exotic stories, there was an infinity of details that, try as he might, would never leave his giddy memory.

He could still vividly evoke her refreshing giggles, and those dainty hands touching him in ways no one ever had. Whether she’d be casually picking off a lint on his sweater, saucily complimenting him for his choice of clothing, or resting a hand on his shoulder as she leaned over, trying to reach for one of the many drinks circulating across the room, offering him another glass of that sparkling _‘champagne’_ , fizzy bubbles tickling his nose as she talked, and talked, and _talked_ about all sorts of old family anecdotes, involving her mischievous, carefree childhood and, more often than not, some unknown cousin that she hadn’t seen in ages.

It’d been overwhelming, utterly intoxicating, drowning his senses in heaps of nectarous foods and heady alcohol, in golden lights and surreal festive songs and, above all, in _her_ , and in how awfully comfortable she appeared to be by his side, unashamed of spending most of the occasion with him, and clearly oblivious to the sporadic glances of mistrust and disbelief that the rest of the warriors would occasionally throw their way.

Still, the most surprising emotion of them all had been the rare pride engulfing him at the obvious realization that, within a house full of people, she’d much favored his company to any other, a foreign, yet pleasant sentiment, tricking him into believing that, perhaps, this exotic celebration would end up being far more tolerable than he’d first anticipated.

And then, just as he’d gradually started to feel himself relax, quietly surrendering to the calm assurance that Bulma’s company inspired in him, _he_ had to come along, completely destroying the woman’s happiness along the way.

Vegeta could still see her turning her eyes curiously to the side, that charmingly familiar gesture that she did whenever the luxurious doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of yet another one of her increasingly larger group of noisy guests, only, _this time_ , her reaction to her mysterious visitor hadn’t been a polite smile and some cheeky gossip whispered in his ear, but a horrified expression of sheer dismay.

Her candid smile froze on her lips, the corners of her lively mouth falling with the rest of her gorgeous face, staring in disbelief at the only man who held the destructive power to dim the light of her striking blue eyes.

The sudden shift in her attitude had been such, that it’d forced the Saiyan to instinctively leave behind his well-practiced aura of disinterest, promptly following her glance and discovering, straight away, where the little female’s incredulity stemmed from.

Right there, by the large mahogany door, stood the cowardly human who used to be her _‘boyfriend’_ and, though his shocking visit should have been enough to spoil anyone’s party, it soon became self-evident that it wasn’t the idiot’s presence what had ruined Bulma’s coquettish mood, but the unpredicted attendance of his even stupider companion, none other than some random, blue-haired bimbo, already taking off her cheap coat with the useless fighter’s help.

Vegeta’s own mouth twisted in disgust, repulsed by the scene unfolding before his very eyes, both by that drooling grin spreading across the man’s dumb face, and by the way he ogled the indecently young-looking woman, as if she were nothing but a worthless piece of flesh.

Romantic relationships of any kind were out, _way_ out of the Prince’s area of expertise, but it surely didn’t take a genius to intuitively guess that it was in incredibly poor taste to bring his side-piece of the month to the home of a woman who’d shared more than ten years of her life with him, an exceptional creature who, by all accounts, had given the moronic loser far more than he deserved.

When Vegeta’s gaze rushed back to Bulma, all color had left her rosy face, and she was but a glum shadow of the bubbly woman she’d been just seconds ago, with those disenchanted eyes staring absentmindedly at the polished floors, losing themselves into the miserable wave of depressing thoughts sweeping her away, allowing herself a selfish instant of self-pity before choosing to bravely compose herself, one last time.

_“Will you excuse me for a second?”_ She shyly asked, a cold, clammy hand enfolding his wrist in silent apology while the most heartbreaking smile drew itself on her tense lips, one of those smiles that wouldn’t reach her eyes, and that would remain sadly trapped in her features through the rest of the night.

He saw her walking discreetly towards the door, welcoming her undesirable guests with a graciousness that the insensitive bastard clearly hadn’t earnt, and making the admirable effort to engage in some minor chitchat with the absurd couple, before excusing herself and disappearing into the kitchens, offering to assist her mother with the final details before dinner was served.

 

_That was all._

 

The Prince barely had the chance to see much of her ever since, only once during the copious Christmas dinner, when she’d sat at the table, right beside him, hardly tasting her food, and making the most delectable meal he’d ever tasted feel like dusty gravel sanding down his throat with the way those jittery hands kept fidgeting miserably with her fork, choosing to focus on the red wine instead, and almost embarrassingly dropping her drink on the table more than once.

His last vision of her had taken place sometime after the extravagant banquet, when all the guests had left the table, at last, spreading out throughout the comfortable salons while the Briefs matriarch made her rounds yet again, giving away even more sweets and candied treats to the already bursting guests.

He saw Bulma standing in front of one of the large windows, swirling her last glass of champagne distractedly while her eyes wandered longingly all over the dark gardens, a poignant air of nostalgia saddening her exquisite face when the first signs of white started to fall from the frozen skies. Her head fell back languidly when the last sip of alcohol touched her sullen lips, eyes closing as tired fingers idly rubbed her neck, only to open them back again, contemplating the jam-packed room with dreamy eyes, as if a great part of her had already drifted away from it all.

It was then that _it_ happened, it was then that they found each other, their eyes meeting across the distance, two strangers sharing a secret that no one else in that cussed room would ever light upon.

Vegeta held her stare with a confidence that still staggered him to this moment, a frightening intensity that contradicted the apparent nonchalance of the coldhearted warrior leaning cross-armed with his back against the wall, letting her know, with not even _one_ word, that he _understood_ , that he could feel her unbearable pain in his own mortal flesh, and that, if only he were a noble man, instead of the emotionally stunted wimp that he knew himself to be, he’d wrap his arms around her and he’d get her out of there, taking her to a hidden corner of the world where no harm would ever touch her.

And in her eyes he saw that she _knew_ , he didn’t even know how or why but, in those bottomless pools of blue, blinking dreamily at him, like a hypnotized nymph awakening from an illusive dream, the Prince found a woman who’d just discovered, not only that her most intimate secret had been laid bare, but that the man in possession of such a skill was the least expected, an enigmatic equal who’d never betray her shattered trust.

Bulma watched him for an absorbed instant, gifting him with the most devastating smile, a watery smile of disillusionment and heartfelt gratitude, before the spell was broken, and she turned around, walking defeatedly towards her mother, whispering a few furtive words in her ear and vanishing from the crowded room, taking all that was bright with her.

 

And now here he was, standing alone in the dark, spying through the still illuminated windows like some lowlife thief looking for some magical signal, _anything_ that would help him decide on whether he should take a chance and get back into that cursed house, or follow his first instinct and subject himself to a good old-fashioned session of self-abuse.

Vegeta’s most stubborn self was growing increasingly inclined towards the latter, but the night’s surreal events had zapped every bit of energy left in him and, after an exhaustive scan of the Briefs home, and its spacious surroundings, concluded that the entirety of the irritating guests had already left the party, the Prince made up his tired mind, choosing to go to bed and call it a day.

That is, of course, until a whiff of the most delicious aroma suddenly pervaded his senses, a sweetly creamy scent only savored once before, during that oneiric night spent with the little earthling, a treasured night whose memory, try as he might, he’d found himself incapable of forgetting.

“Hey…” Bulma greeted him in a pleased whisper, not at all surprised by the snoopy stranger floating smoothly before her, the intrigued warrior who’d just discovered her not-so-secret hiding spot, sitting on one of the few stairs located right at the top of her home’s colossal rooftop. “Do you want some?” She generously offered, holding the cup of that flask he knew so well by now, and pouring him some of that mouthwatering hot chocolate, long before he even had the opportunity to accept her invitation.

His feet touched the slippery ground with great care, secretly marveled at how foolishly brave the woman was, wholly unafraid of such great heights, especially for someone who couldn’t fly if her life depended on it.       

Her audacity should have offended him, that strange overconfidence that always made her assume, and rightly so, that he’d follow her instructions like a docile Saiyan puppy. But Vegeta soon realized that, tonight, after everything the softhearted woman had been put through, he’d much rather sit obediently by her side, taking up her offer for one last enjoyable treat before going back to his room.

“This one smells… _Different_ …” He noted, sharp nostrils flaring like those of a hound as he held the drink in his cold hands, eyeing it with suspicion before venturing to take his first sip.

“Ah, yeah…” She giggled timidly, the first honest laughter he’d heard from her in a while. “I may have spiked it _just_ a little bit…” She admitted, with the cheekiness of a silly teenage girl who’d just gotten caught in her first mischief.

The Prince said nothing, merely grunting softly as he tasted the soothing drink, easily picking up on the subtle touch of liquor, blended to perfection with the natural sweetness of the rich chocolate flavor.

_‘Not bad…’_

“Sorry about tonight, by the way…” Bulma murmured warily, hiding her small hands in the tight space between her small body and the knees protectively pressed to her chest.

Vegeta remained silent for a second, absolutely dumbfounded as to why it was the woman, of all people, the one apologizing for the monumental fiasco of the night’s celebrations.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” his sincere reply came at last, loathing himself for getting emotionally involved in a situation that shouldn’t have been his business to begin with, but powerless to just sit down and watch her take responsibility for something that had been everyone’s fault but hers.

“Yeah, I know…” She agreed in a slightly more confident tone, honestly surprised by the Prince’s open support. “It’s just that… I don’t know…” She shrugged weakly, the Moon’s majestic glow reflected in those sad eyes of hers as they lost themselves into the clear sky. “I guess I just wanted everything to be perfect tonight, since this was your first time celebrating Christmas and all…”

Her words of disappointment almost made him choke on his second mouthful of hot chocolate, openly gaping both at her defeated stance, and at the captivating blush spreading across her cheeks as she kept timidly avoiding his stare.

 

_For him._

She’d gone out of her way just so she could please _him_.     

 

“I knew it was a bad idea to invite him,” Bulma carried on, forcing herself to keep talking when she intuitively sensed the Prince’s quiet discomfort with such an intimate conversation. “But my Mom insisted, you know? She said that… That it’d be good for us to be friends after… After all those years together…” A long, melancholic sigh fled her lips, shivering vulnerably when a rush of cold air suddenly hit them both. “I guess she didn’t think that he’d bring some girl along. Mom was pretty disappointed in him too. It was just… I don’t know…”

“Disrespectful,” Vegeta pointed out, the coolness in his voice poorly concealing the vicious rage boiling beneath the surface as his fingers tightened angrily around his drink.

This time, it was Bulma’s chance to turn her sights on him, her touching aura of amazement and gratitude reawakening some of those yearning emotions inside of him, the ones making it impossible for him to catch a wink of sleep when she’d spent the night lying beside him in that lousy infirmary.

The warrior’s calloused hands gingerly offered her the half-full mug, just in the same way he had on such a fateful night, a night that was the catalyst for the greatest change of their lives, even if neither one of them suspected it yet.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it _that_ …” The earthling murmured bashfully, a flock of butterflies fluttering nervously in his stomach with the way she smiled at him in understanding, eagerly accepting his invitation as she took the cup from his jittery hands.

It was _hopeless_ , it was ludicrously hopeless to try to stop himself anymore from mooning over her, so he just sat there like a besotted fool, pursing his mouth in frustration when those full lips, still lightly swollen from crying, kept blowing at the steaming cup, tasting her first sip from _exactly_ the same spot his own mouth had just touched seconds earlier.

“It’s funny because… I don’t… I don’t even love him anymore…” She admitted with surprising calmness, her sureness in her lack of feelings towards her ex-lover confusing the Prince even more. “I guess what hurt me the most is that… It’s not just that he brought her to my house but… I don’t know…” She mumbled huskily, almost as if talking to herself, trying to make some coherent sense out of her own restless feelings. “I guess it’s the fact that he found someone else so soon. It makes me feel like… Like I’m just forgettable, you know?”

 

_Forgettable._

She could _not_ be serious.

The woman may have been the most vulgar, exasperating creature he’d ever chanced upon, with her sassy banter and brazen meddling, always screeching, scolding and overprotecting him, to the point of treating him, at times, like nothing but a reckless little brat. Vegeta might not have the faintest clue as to what dangerous adventures would await him once he attained his obsessive goals, reaching his prized Super Saiyan form and annihilating that useless pair of artificial tin cans but, the Gods help him, whatever it was that Destiny threw his way, when the time finally came for them to part ways, putting an end to the surreal experience that their coexistence had become, he was damn sure that he’d never, _ever_ , forget the unshakable Force of Nature that was Bulma Briefs.    

 

“Perhaps, it’s the other way around,” he reflected out loud, chiming into her emotional troubles before he could even stop himself, absolutely _loathing_ to see her belittling herself like this.

“Uh?” She gasped feebly, still in mild disbelief at his clear attempt to comfort her in his own reserved way. “What do you mean?”

His fists clenched on their own, eyebrows knitting as he scowled in chagrin, not even knowing what was even more perplexing anymore, the woman, who was supposedly some kind of genius, not seeing the obvious, or that new, irrepressible need overriding his spirit, urging him to take away the pain eating her alive.

“I meant that, maybe,” Vegeta clarified. “The weakling found that idiotic woman because he _can’t_ forget on his own…”

He kept his mousy eyes cowardly hooked on the ground, letting his smart words sink in as he took the empty cup from her small hands with a gentleness he didn’t even know he possessed, pouring himself a second glassful of the heartening beverage and guzzling most of it in one single gulp, gathering some liquid courage before he ventured to give her a second glance, discovering the most extraordinary metamorphosis blossoming all over that beautiful face.

_Smiling_ , the woman was smiling at _him_ , not one of her usual dazzling smiles, but a smile nonetheless, shy but resplendent, wide blue eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a woman who’d just found a loyal ally where she least expected it.

“You really think so?” Bulma asked daintily, her spirits rising, but still hoping for that final little push to give her the morale she so desperately _needed_.

“I do,” Vegeta quietly reassured her, lips curling into the ghost of a lopsided smirk at the sound of her tiny, triumphant chuckle.

“I guess you’re right,” she agreed, her newfound confidence instilling the rarest sense of pride in him, pride at being the one to rekindle some of that zesty fire back.

“So…” She ventured once more, invading his most sacred space, as only she knew how, when she stuck one of her bold little fingers into the leftovers of his creamy chocolate, sliding it across the empty cup and carelessly sticking it right into her mouth. “I figure I’m not the only one who thought that the girl was… You _know_ …” Bulma prodded him, her innate feistiness pushing aside some of the sorrow haunting her still. “Not the brightest bulb in the tree, uh?”

By now, most of Vegeta’s blood had abandoned his body, fascinated by that wicked tongue licking off the chocolate from his mug with such naivete, by all means oblivious to the flood of impure thoughts coursing his veins, and to the fact that she could so easily arouse him like this with such a harmless gesture, both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Hn…” He groaned in frustration, choosing to play her game and go along with her, after all, there was nothing like a common enemy to make the woman feel better. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d have to lie in order to agree with her, anyway. “She was the stupidest creature I’ve ever encountered,” he snarled, visibly repelled by the mere memory of the female’s moronic topics of conversation that, together with that grating nasal voice, were enough to test his endurance in ways not even Frieza himself ever had, making him spend the rest of the evening struggling not to break her exasperating neck just to make it _stop_.

And he must have said the right thing, if only for once, for Bulma chuckled even louder than before, the sound pure and luminous, getting a whole lot closer to her real vivacious self.

“Yeah, I know…” She admitted, making him wish he’d never followed her goddamned scent to the rooftop the moment she stuck her blasted finger into his chocolate, _yet again_ , running her tongue all over it, like the most natural act in the world. “I guess no one cares about some topless model using her brain anyway…”     

“A what?” Vegeta promptly asked back, genuinely intrigued by a concept he’d never heard of before.

“A topless model.”

 

_“…”_

             

The blank look on his face, together with that hilarious tic that always made his cheek twitch uncontrollably whenever he felt uncomfortable, or faced by a situation he knew nothing about, made Bulma unconsciously press her lips together, bottling up a string of laughter at how ridiculously adorable he looked right now.

Out of all the countless, tongue-in-cheek arguments that they’d enjoyed throughout those past few months, she’d never once brought up anything related to nudity or human sexuality of any kind, after having noticed, right from the moment she’d teasingly called him _‘cute’_ , back when she’d first invited him into her home, that the warrior seemed to be surprisingly prudish about such matters.

Whether it was because he was one of those men who considered sex something strictly private between a man and a woman, or if he was perhaps simply not interested in it, she wouldn’t know. For all she knew, he might even be a virgin and, though she’d mostly kept such a tricky subject off grounds all this time, something about the unreal intimacy of this moment was awakening her most impish side, wondering what would happen if she dared to discuss naughty body parts with the Prince of All Saiyans himself.       

“Yeah, topless”, she described, casually waving one of her hands while inwardly roaring with laughter. “She’s a model who poses with her boobs out…”

“Boobs?” He frowned, blinking uncertainly as he tried to figure out where exactly he’d heard of that particular term before.

“Yeah, boobs. You know? _Breasts_ …” Bulma explained in her best serious face. “She poses with her breasts out…”

Vegeta’s mouth gaped wide open in sheer shock, his upper lip twisting in the most comical manner, looking at her like a twelve-year-old boy who’d just been given _‘the talk’_ for the first time in his life.

“She poses with her breasts out…” He murmured numbly to himself, quickly realizing that he was missing just _one_ last piece of crucial information. “She poses _where_ with her breasts out?”    

“In magazines, silly!” She replied, smacking him playfully in the arm. “You know my Mom’s magazines, right? Well… It’s the same, but for men. And the girls have no clothes on…”

“A-Are you…?” He stuttered in disbelief, his ingenuous, wide-eyed expression making her want to hug him silly. “Are you telling me that…? That the woman appears _naked_ in magazines?”

“Yup!”

“ _What_ …? What for?!”

A devilishly amused smirk finally cracked up on her lips, lowering her chin and flashing him the cheekiest look in her repertoire. “What do you think?”

“Tch!” He huffed, face flushing crimson as his eyes returned to the ground, shaking his head to himself in mortified incredulity. “You humans are _vile_ …” He mumbled irritably.

“Tell me about it…” Bulma openly giggled, wrapping her arms around one of his and leaning shamelessly against him while resting her chin on his shoulder, ready for some extra teasing of her own. “You’re really funny, did you know that?”

“Hn…” He hmphed, side-eyeing the woman, and those brazen hands of hers, with wary skepticism.

_Funny._

Him.

She thought _he_ was funny.     

 

There was a really strong possibility that she was mocking him, as usual, and while this should have been the perfect moment to give her the slip, removing himself from a situation that was getting more out of hand by the second, he simply _couldn’t_ , finding it harder and harder to stay mad at her when she kept leaning and holding onto him, quite literally, for a support that he wasn’t quite convinced yet if he could provide.

“Look…” Bulma whispered in wonderment, turning her delicate face to the sky as her head still rested on his strong shoulder. “It’s snowing…”

The Prince impulsively followed her movements, raising his gaze to the dark skies, and to the light dusting of snow slowly beginning to fall over them both, a tight lump knotting in his throat at the sound of her childish laughter.

“When I was a little girl, I used to get out of the house whenever it snowed,” she gladly recalled, with the contented nostalgia of those privileged enough to have enjoyed, and carefully stored, quite a few happy memories of their own. “I used to run through the gardens, sticking my tongue out. It used to drive my poor Mom insane, because she could never catch me…” She confessed proudly, chuckling at her own silly stories, willing to give him a glimpse of her idyllic childhood. “Like _this_ …”

Bulma closed her eyes and tilted her head back, sticking her pink tongue out, ready to catch a handful of those white, fluffy flakes while Vegeta watched her with infatuated attention.

Her splendid blue dress was nowhere to be seen anymore, the only evidence of her earlier dolled-up appearance being the elegant upsweep still restraining the wilderness of her hair, and failing miserably, judging by the few loose curls already trying to escape, framing her lovely face in the most charming way as she smiled softly into the night. There were no more expensive jewels or glittery high heels, only a thick sweater and some old pants, topped by her favorite worn-out jacket, and a pair of cozy pink boots.            

And yet, although she’d completely taken his breath away when he’d seen her making her grand entrance before, dressed to the nines as she walked down the stairs, Vegeta had to admit that he much preferred her this way.

He liked _this_ Bulma, the one with her messy hair and shabby winter clothes, reenacting her favorite memoirs of youth just for him, with a couple of puny little arms firmly wrapped around him, and a gorgeous face covered in snow.

“I’d say…” She spoke in a hoarse whisper, the shadow of an enigmatic smile curling her mouth as she looked at him intriguingly. “This is a real mistletoe moment…”

One of her hands let go of him, wiping a minuscule white pebble off the tip of his nose with her index finger, allowing herself the luxury to brush his cheek with those soft fingertips, before grabbing onto his trembling arm once again, bringing herself even closer to him.

“Do you…?” She murmured inaudibly, _languorously_ , nipping at her bottom lip as her hazed eyes skimmed through his anxious mouth. “Do you know what that is?”  

Vegeta slowly shook his head no, barely able to assimilate, or to even _listen_ to her cryptic words anymore, mesmerized by the luring effects of her dangerous proximity, and by her earnest heartbeat, pounding in his ears as if it were his own. He couldn’t deny to having indulged in a woman or two, back in his heyday, but it’d always been cold, quick and impersonal, never like _this_ , never like _her_ , never this terrifying emotion making him fall apart, the frightening certainty that, if he ever let his guard down and let _this_ woman in, he’d never be the same again.

Time stood still for an eternal moment when her lips found his, her mouth soft, light as a feather, the world disappearing around them as she stole a first kiss from the man whose mysterious presence had seduced and fascinated her from the day she’d welcomed him into her vibrant life.

He was inexperienced, clumsy, just as she’d always expected him to be, too unused to love, or even kindness, to truly know what he was doing. But, _Kami_ , something in that innocent kiss told her that there was more to this obscure man than met the eye, and that whoever would one day succeed in deciphering that inscrutable heart, might strike gold.     

“Mhmm…” Bulma moaned, with the faintness of a woman living in a dream, idly dropping her dizzy head on the curve of his shoulder, without even trying to open her eyes. “You’re so _warm_ …” She slurred sleepily, rubbing her small, reddened nose, back and forth, into the surprisingly smooth skin of his neck, while gently grasping his captive arm, lifting it carefully and inviting him to shield her shivering shoulders with it.

The couple sat silently in the dark, with the heavy-eyed earthling drifting off with no trouble at all, and a _very_ bewildered Saiyan, staring at her sleeping figure while wondering just what all of this had even meant, yet powerless to neglect her wishes, feeling himself steadily relaxing in her presence as he softened his tense arm, pulling her even closer to him.

He knew that he’d soon have to carry the fragile woman back to her bed, or she’d end up freezing to death but, for a moment, just for one selfish little moment, he greedily luxuriated in all that was Bulma, in that balmy, calm breath embracing his needy skin, in those tousled blue curls carelessly tickling his jaw and, most of all, in the miraculous way in which she was inexplicably dissipating the gloomy emotions crushing his spirit under that heavy veil of white snow.   

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw! Christmas smooches!
> 
> Fun fact: we have no mistletoe tradition in my country, but I just couldn't help myself...
> 
> Anyway, the next prompt will take place on Christmas Day, so stay tuned!
> 
> And, in case I don't update the story before Christmas Day, I just want to wish you all an AMAZING Christmas with your families and all the people you care for, with lots of presents, yummy things and delicious food comas included, of course. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support in the past year, it means a lot! 
> 
> MUCH LOVE!!!


	3. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a highly unusual Christmas Eve, Vegeta will take delight in an even more remarkable Christmas Day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, here's the new prompt!
> 
> I finished it a few days ago, but my Christmas and post-Christmas days have been a bit busier than I first anticipated, so it took me a little longer to find the time to edit this one.
> 
> I've actually enjoyed one of my best Christmas in a long time, and I really hope that you've all had an amazing time too!
> 
> I hope you like this one, and Happy New Year!!!

 

Vegeta stood his ground in the midst of the storm, feet firmly planted on the barren rocks as an endless tidal of vast, raging waves broke against his immobile form, buried amongst a flood of tempestuous waters, an ocean just as turbulent as the thoughts suffocating his perturbed heart.

He could still _feel_ them, he could still feel those small hands clutching his sweater in her sleep as she’d drifted off in his nervous embrace the night before, just like he could still hear those drowsy, whispery words, begging him to stay after he’d carried her to her bed, trying to carefully untangle her arms from his neck, and get her to let go of him, with no success.

 _“Please don’t go…”_ Bulma murmured in his ear, shimmery eyes still half-open, but already drizzled with sleep.

It was terrifying, absolutely terrifying how easy it’d been for him to obey her wishes last night, sensing his body freely choosing to stay beside her long before his mind could catch up with his own reckless actions.

He’d quietly removed his shoes, trying to ignore the nerve-racking emotion that that pair of greedy little hands evoked inside of him, obstinately refusing to set him free, not even after he managed to sneak into her girly bed, joining her under the covers and lying with her.

At first, the Prince had expected a repeat of their first night together in the infirmary, hoping for the sleepy earthling to release him, perhaps curling by his side, now that she’d finally convinced him to ease her loneliness by keeping her company.

But Bulma’s body seemed to have different plans for him, and it wasn’t long before the intrepid woman broke the rules, one more time, smashing yet another one of his boundaries by getting even closer, pressing her lithe figure against his pitifully trembling one, and holding onto him as if she’d always been meant to be right in his arms.

The weak hands that had once been draped around his strong neck for support, had now found refuge in the broad protectiveness of his chest, tiny fingers grasping his warm clothing as her legs naturally entangled themselves with his own, languidly rubbing her cheek against his flushed neck in exactly the same way she had when she’d leaned into him underneath that white mantle of snow.

Everything in her was soft, _gentle_ , so terribly inviting that his anxious indecision quickly vanished into thin air, chasing the memory of the chaste cuddle they’d both indulged in outside, and instinctively trapping her in his arms, binding her in a placid hold as the longest sigh caressed his skin, as if the only thing she’d ever needed to find some peace was for him to give into her humble pleas.

She’d felt smaller than ever beneath his touch, and he couldn’t help but panic at the realization of just how fragile, how absurdly defenseless she truly was, and how brave it’d been for such a delicate creature to get as close to him as she undeniably had, not only in the physical but in the emotional realm, touching and reaching out to him, tugging at his darkened heart in ways no one ever had.

He’d hardly gotten any rest that night, merely dozing on and off from time to time, acting like some inexperienced juvenile as he watched her sleep with ingenuous fascination. He couldn’t deny to himself any longer that he’d fantasized with a moment such as this more times than he could count, yet no fantasy would ever come close to the sensation of that minute body flowing in his hands, that slow, rhythmic breathing reminding him of how marvelously comfortable the gutsy woman felt in his presence.

Vegeta spent the night drowning in the purity of her essence, in that clean, lily-white scent incessantly emanating from her. And, either he was getting close, dangerously close to losing whatever remained of his sanity, or he had, as sure as creed, heard his name slipping from her lips in her state of blissful unconsciousness.

The Prince had, at least, possessed enough willpower left in him to part from her before she’d rise and shine, reluctantly disentangling his needy body from her own deprived one, and giving her one last, longing glance as he’d stood on her balcony, a defeated figure bathed by the early rays of sunshine, devouring the heart-wrenching sight of the small woman swaddled in a cocoon of pink sheets and floral blankets, whining faintly in her sleep, lamenting the loss of the man who’d kept her safe all through the night.

His new masterplan had taken shape the moment he’d flopped down exhaustedly on his miserable bed, furious with himself for having behaved, yet again, like some silly puppet in the hands of that wicked woman, gladly allowing himself to fall into whatever sentimental trap she’d conceived, and built, especially for him, and vowing to duck out from that blasted house as soon as he squeezed in a few vital hours of sleep.

But then Panchy Briefs _had_ to make another one of her annoying entrances, barging into his room with her perky giggles and that disconcerting, maternal tone, followed by another irresistible whiff of succulent foods and, before he knew, he was sitting at the table once more, impotent to escape the nightmare that these infernal _‘Christmas’_ celebrations had become.

He’d partly found some consolation in the abundant feast of tasty goodies, and in the comforting fact that the only ones enjoying with him that heavenly _‘Christmas Day’_ lunch would be Dr. Briefs and his peppy wife.

And then _she_ came along, brightening up the whole place with her invigorating presence, and making the food in his mouth instantly fall into his stomach, hard as a rock, when she brazenly sat right in front of him with zero hesitation.

There had been no fancy jewels or elaborated hairdos this time but, much to his shame, the Prince had been entirely unable to keep his eyes off her throughout the whole meal, powerless to ignore those shiny blue curls, which she’d chosen to carelessly set free, or that simple, but oddly elegant, little black dress, with long sleeves and a demure décolletage, openly exposing the most kissable collarbones with every casual flick of her hair.

But the most unbearable torture of them all had been that _smile_ , that pure, honest-to-Gods smile of hers, perhaps not as bright as the one she’d proudly displayed before her ex-lover’s betrayal, but just as candid, inundating his confused mind with absurd thoughts and the most ridiculous of hopes, the secret hope that he’d been the _only_ one responsible for the rebirth of her lost happiness.

_Too much._

It had all been too damn much, and the only thing left for him to do, the moment his ravenous Saiyan appetite had been fully sated, was to awkwardly mumble the pathetic shadow of an excuse, getting the Hell out of Bulma’s home before he’d end up making a fool of himself, just like he’d done the previous night.

He’d practically galloped straight to the door, blasting off into the freezing skies with not one look back, not even bothering to get out of his formal clothes as he sped up, setting loose in a futile attempt at letting off steam, desperately striving to leave such madness behind, from her every gesture and charming mannerism, to those increasingly intimate moments shared in confidence, away from the rest of the world, and that turmoil of foreign emotions overruling his spirit, taking over from his usual cold, detached self, and scattering suggestive ideas and fantasies that he’d never truly indulged in before.

It’d been a long while since he’d run from the Briefs household like this, seeking solace in the silent comfort of solitude. But now, as he stood stoically amid some thunderous sea storm in the middle of one of Earth’s majestic oceans, he bitterly discovered that loneliness no longer seemed to pacify his insanity as effectively as it once did.

His shoulders fell in defeat, his regal body growing limp at the frightening realization that there was nowhere to run, no place to hide anymore, and that the time had come for him to make a choice, to either walk away from the bewitching female, and from everything she represented, or to cave in and let Destiny take charge, surrendering to the woman’s magnetism, once and for all.

 

And Destiny turned out to be a golden light, an illuminated window guiding him through the dark of night as he walked the perennial fields of snow that Capsule Corp.’s immense gardens had become, deliberately letting go, with each hypnotized step, of his fears and inhibitions, not even knowing what Life had in store for him yet, but accepting, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that his capricious Luck would somehow be bound to one being, and one being only.

Destiny was a woman sitting by the fireplace, finding shelter in the cozy seclusion of her home’s small guest house, a sacred place that no one but her ever made use of anymore. He watched her unashamedly through the glass doors, not afraid, for once, of the possibility of getting caught in the act by the brilliant woman whose stunning blue eyes were now daydreaming in front of a sea of sizzling flames, a small hand swirling a thick glass of liquor distractedly, while the other toyed with the fringes of the Persian rug that served her as perch.  

Destiny was a jubilant smile, followed by a lanky finger curling in a come-hither motion, happily inviting him to join her, without qualm, the second her curious gaze discovered the unmistakable silhouette of the familiar intruder lurking outside.

_Destiny was Bulma._

 

“There you are!” She exclaimed with relish, her genuine joy at seeing him joining her for the evening racing a barrage of emotions all through him. “I’ve been looking for you all day… Come! Come sit with me!” She asked enthusiastically, already patting the cushy rug with the excitement of an impatient little girl, eager to share her special surprise with the stunned object of her affections. “I have a surprise for you!”

“You do?” Vegeta asked in bewilderment, cautiously joining her on the carpeted floors by sitting cross-legged beside her.

“Yup!” She announced, the thrilled pride in her voice making her anticipation contagious by the minute. “I guess it’s my Christmas present for you…” Bulma confessed, letting go of her untouched glass and turning to her side, where a pillow, a furrowed blanket, and a pile of wrinkly blueprints revealed that, whatever it was that she had in the cards for him, she must have been working hard at it for a while.

He waited patiently for her to find what she was looking for, doing his best to stop his stupefied face from showing any emotion, especially his honest surprise at discovering that the woman had one of those holiday gifts for him too.

She’d already briefly introduced him to such a bizarre tradition the night before, after having exchanged quite a few of them with her closest friends, but Vegeta had simply assumed that he would be excluded from this ritual this time. After all, Bulma and her family had already shown him far more generosity than anyone ever had, and it wasn’t as if he was in the position to give her anything in return, should she ever choose to present him with some sort of special gift.

“Alright… I found it…” She murmured to herself, successfully finding her chosen blueprint and crawling clumsily towards him, her knee casually touching his as she sat nearby. “Look!” She proclaimed, proudly spreading out the large piece of paper before his inquisitive eyes.

“What…?” Vegeta mumbled reticently, with that sense of embarrassment striking him every time he was in the presence of one of Bulma’s prodigious inventions. “What is it?”

“It’s a new training bot!” Bulma clarified, a sympathetic smile etched on her lips at how strangely vulnerable the proud warrior looked whenever he was shown something he knew nothing about. “Look…” She calmly proceeded to explain, making the Saiyan’s mouth run dry when she leaned almost indecently into him, resting the mysterious document on his lap and running her fingers all over it. “The exterior is made of this new alloy that my Dad and I have just patented. It’s much more resilient, not only to your blows, but also to extreme heat. And, you see this?” She asked, pointing to one of the circuit designs with her index finger, without even giving him the opportunity to answer before she resumed her masterful presentation. “I’ve finally solved this equation that’s been driving me crazy all week! So, basically, this bot will have several settings, and _tons_ of aleatory programs, so it’ll make things really challenging for you!”

The Prince gawked at the enigmatic blueprint in sheer shock, aiming to digest, with severe difficulty, not only the tsunami of brand-new information that she’d just put at his disposal, but the incredible thoughtfulness of such a gift. It wasn’t one of those useless, sentimental presents that these foolish humans were so inexplicably fond of, but a _real_ gift, something that would help him grow and improve, something that would allow him to attain the one dream that mattered to him the most.

“So…? What do you think?” Bulma prodded, her good-hearted smile never faltering, trying to lighten the mood of a man who was clearly struggling with a generosity that he, very possibly, thought himself wholly unworthy of. “Pretty cool, uh?”

Vegeta’s gaze returned to the woman, and to that gorgeous smile of hers, awkwardly clearing his throat while trying to think of something, _anything_ , to say, yet knowing that he’d fall pitiably short regardless of his choice of words.

“It’s…”

 _“Acceptable?_ ” She guessed gingerly, a playful expression dancing in her eyes as she secretly tried to spare him from embarrassing himself.

Even if the pigheaded Saiyan still remained an enigma in far too many ways, all these months living together hadn’t been entirely wasted on her and, by now, Bulma had already unraveled quite a few of the Prince’s secrets. The main one being that, for all of that pompously conceited mumbo-jumbo that he loved to babble about on the battlefield, Vegeta was painfully uncomfortable, most times verging on pathologically shy, when it came to expressing his emotions anywhere else; and, though he loved to bicker and order her around any time he needed repairs on his beloved Gravity Room, he always seemed to be at a loss for words whenever _she_ was the one who’d take the initiative in helping or having a nice gesture with him.

“I’m glad you like it…” Bulma whispered fondly, her heart breaking a little at the way he timidly nodded in assent, those obsidian eyes now evading hers, getting lost in the spellbinding flames of her fireplace. “You’ve never had these before, have you?”

Her new offer, and a warm, appealing scent he’d never smelled before, instantly made him peep at the woman’s hands, which had now put down her precious blueprints, and were graciously holding a large bowl in front of him.

“They’re chestnuts,” she pointed out, delicately resting the bowl on the rug. “I just roasted a few. They’re really nice, you’ll see… They’re kind of sweet…” She carried on, picking up a few of the small brown items and placing them on the open palm of his hand. “You have to peel them like this, and then… Wa-Wait!”

“What?” He frowned, his mouth freezing, having popped the whole thing in _right_ after hearing the word _‘sweet’_.

“Um… Uh… You’re… You’re supposed to peel them first…” Bulma broke down, trying as hard as she could not to crack-up at the hilarious view of her alien guest holding a mouthful of unpeeled chestnuts in his mouth. “See? Like this…” She demonstrated, slowly peeling one of them and splitting it in half. “And then you open it first, like this, in case there’s a worm inside of…”

She hadn’t even finished her sentence and Vegeta was already spitting out a bunch of half-chewed chestnuts, at the speed of light, _straight_ into the fire.

“There are _WORMS_ in this?!” He barked, absolutely horrified at the mere thought of such repulsive critters.

“What? No, no!” She exclaimed defensively, surprised at seeing him so openly disgusted by something of this nature, particularly considering that little Goku had once offered to share one of his centipedes with her for supper. “It’s… It’s actually very rare, I swear! It’s just in case…”

“Hmph!” He snarled, his scrunched nose reminding her of some bratty five-year-old refusing to eat his Brussel sprouts.

“Aw, come on Vegeta…” She pleaded, both incredibly amused and a little worried about such a strong reaction, wondering if perhaps there was some obscure, traumatic event associated to those _scary_ worms. “I’ll do it for you. Here…”

Bulma expertly peeled one roasted little nut, cracking it in half and examining it with great attention, before tentatively offering it once again to the offended Saiyan who kept side-eyeing her as if she were holding a bottle of pure poison in her hand.

“Please? Pretty please?” She begged, puckering her bottom lip like a needy brat. “You trust me, right?”

“…”

 

_‘Damn her!’_

 

Damn _her_ and those sad puppy eyes, and her blushing cheeks and fluttery eyelashes, and her luminous smiles and unreal kindness. Damn _her_ and those stupidly pointless _‘Christmas’_ celebrations, and her sappy gifts and fluffy pink socks. Damn _her_ and her foolish generosity, and her steady hands, never relenting, _never_ letting go, treating him like a man instead of a monster. And _damn_ those goddamned roasted chestnuts for tasting so goddamned good, just like every goddamned thing she’d ever given to him, when he finally had the courage to accept her invitation and eat the goddamned thing.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” She whispered, her tone subdued, but brimming with the calm satisfaction of a woman who was gradually discovering that, perhaps, she held more power over the man she was falling for than she ever knew.

They both ate in silence by the fire, with Bulma peeling and meticulously checking every single one of the warm delicacies, before passing them to the compliant Saiyan quietly appreciating them. Every now and then, she’d eat one herself, but she gladly gave most of them to her guest, happy to see him enjoying yet another one of her home’s traditions, and overcome by the most nostalgic déjà vu as she evoked the times when it was her Mom the one peeling her chestnuts for her, it felt like centuries ago now.

When they were done, Bulma discreetly set the empty bowl aside, stifling a muffled yawn while stretching like a mellow kitty, ready to share one more treat with him tonight.

“You _must_ taste this…” She murmured naughtily, taking a small sip of the half-full glass of liquor she’d been idly stirring in her hand when he’d first found her tonight, closing her eyes and moaning softly as she savored _every_ drop, before offering it to him. “It’s my Dad’s favorite cognac. It’s more than fifty years old…”

Vegeta didn’t vacillate this time, bringing the heavy glass under his nose and inhaling a long, deep breath, before getting a leisurely taste of the intoxicating brew. The Prince had never cared much for alcohol, finding Earth’s wide assortment of liquors especially weak for his insanely fast metabolism, but he had to admit that this particular blend was pretty damn good.

He savored it slowly, _deliberately_ , letting it melt in his tongue the same way her tiny moan had melted in his ears, never taking his eyes off the woman who kept staring at the comfy fire as if it held the answers to her every question in life.

“I haven’t thanked you yet…” She muttered, her stare low, but with a shy confidence that implied that she’d already made peace with whatever Demons had been tormenting her in recent times.

“What for?” He asked genuinely, so deeply overwhelmed by the swell of foreign emotions and events experienced during those past few days, that he didn’t even know what to think of her, _of them_ , anymore.

“I don’t know,” she confessed in a meek whisper. “For _understanding_ , I guess…” She turned to him, the peacefulness in her serene smile awakening something occult and forbidden inside of him. “It’s nice to have someone on my side…”

 

_Her side._

A man like him, an eternal outlander with no real home or roots to speak of, had no one’s side but his own, taking and plundering as much as he wanted, whenever _he_ wanted, without owing anyone a goddammed thing in return.

And yet, as preposterous as it sounded, if there was one being, just one single being who deserved to have his side no matter what, it should be Bulma. The one who’d offered him a home, and everything his heart could ever desire, in order to conquer his most coveted dream, the one who’d given him more, far more, than a penniless scoundrel like him would ever deserve, without asking for a thing, not _one_ blasted thing, in return.

All in all, Vegeta figured that, since the beautiful dummy had been foolish enough to take his side, it would only be fair for him to take hers as well.

 

“And thank you for staying with me last night,” she insisted, laying a soft hand on his forearm and petting it lightly. “I know it wasn’t easy for you…”

Bulma cheekily reclaimed her glass, briefly running the tip of her tongue across her upper lip as she brought it smoothly to her mouth, bracing herself for her grand revelation.

“Yamcha called after lunch, you know?” She confided, breaking into a roguish smile when she saw one of the warrior’s eyebrows raising with unexpected curiosity. “He tried to tell me about some big fight he just had with that dumb girl… I don’t know…” She shrugged with palpable disinterest, taking another sip of the bittersweet drink and languidly tilting her head back as she tossed it down. “I told him to go _fuck_ himself…” She proudly concluded, looking Vegeta right in the eye with a cocky smirk that he could have easily made his own, instantly erasing his sudden fear that she might consider taking that worthless idiot back in a moment of weakness.

“Good girl…” He purred in approval, sending shivers down her spine with his husky bedroom voice, and with that sly smile curling his lips as he leaned to her, covering her hand with his own as he stole her glass, washing down the rest of the potent drink in one clean gulp.

His fingers lingered around hers as they both held the empty glass, his touch anxious but firm, rugged fingertips stroking her shaky hand with a closeness he’d never shown her before, holding her stare for a lifechanging instant until he lost his nerve, letting go of her as that irresistible smirk died out on his lips.

Bulma’s gaze remained fixated on the empty glass, _captivated_ , enthralled by that almost magical exchange as the room spiraled around her out of control. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt the direct contact of the Prince’s flesh against hers, but such innocent moments of intimacy had always been accidental, casual, a far cry from the affectionate nearness they’d both engaged in ever since he’d agreed to keep her company in that cold infirmary.

In any other man, she would have never dared to look much into such apparently superficial instants but, in _this_ man, a man who kept his masked heart guarded under lock and key at all times, she couldn’t help but feel that such wonderful gestures of kindness had truly meant something, something _real_ , something that could lead them both to the most extraordinary path, if only she succeeded in helping him set his emotions free.  

“All those years…” She whispered pensively under her breath, contemplating her future at the bottom of an empty glass of expensive cognac. “All those years wasted…”

The glass was soon discarded, and she sat still on the spot, tucking one lock of that aquatic mass of tousled curls behind her ear as her abstracted stare walked through those scorching flames, under the watchful eye of a certain Saiyan Prince who simply didn’t know what to believe anymore.

There was longing in her words, but not in her demeanor, nothing but a cool, collected calmness, a quietude that let it slip that the woman freely sharing her inmost feelings with him, had already made her choice.

“Sometimes…” Bulma thought out loud, that unnervingly blue gaze falling right back on him as she cutely tipped her head to the side, looking at him through brand-new eyes. “I think sometimes you don’t… You don’t really fall in love with a person…” She resolved, the palms of her hands now splayed on the lavish rug, proceeding to crawl in his direction, with the idle indolence of a sensual little tigress who’d just spotted her next prey. “Sometimes…” She concluded in a raspy whisper, taking advantage of his unusually low guard, and effortlessly straddling his strong thighs as he kept sitting sloppily on the floor. “Sometimes you just fall in love with an idea…”

She truly was delicious, the most lethal combination of virtue and sensuality he’d ever met, carelessly discussing words of love with the childish naiveté of a teenage girl, but seeking, and taking control of him, with the savvy expertise of the finest of women.

And, although she was the one who knew emotion in ways he never would, her softness never got lost on the way, that compassionate purity of spirit that made him understand that she’d never cross a line he wouldn’t wish her to.

“Do you know what I mean?” She asked meaningfully, amazed by how young he suddenly looked as he let her docilely caress his cheeks with those silky fingertips. “What we did last night…” Bulma muttered gently, knowing that he had no possible reply to her first question. “ _I liked it_ …”

“Woman…” He mumbled in gruff warning, fighting not to lose himself between that pair of curvaceous thighs narrowing around him as she pressed herself even tighter against him.

“Did you…?” Her shaky question spilled from her lips, hating herself for feeling so completely naked, so exposed to a man who could so easily break her heart before she’d even give it to him. “Did you like it too?”    

She gasped in mild shock when he clutched her wrists without warning, taking her bold hands off his face as he huffed sharply through his nose, lips pursed into a cautionary thin line, not even sure if he was about to caution her or himself at this point.

All he knew was that he was about to _lose_ , he was about to lose his own battle of self-control to this woman, and the stupidest truth of the matter was that he didn’t care anymore, because nothing really mattered, nothing but _her_ and her inspiring presence, and the only question worth asking tonight, the only measure of reassurance that she could ever offer to someone like him.

“What about your human _lover_?” He blurted out, the disgust overtaking his cracked voice, at the mere thought of Bulma ever belonging to anyone but _him_ , plain as day.

His irrational jealousy must have boosted her confidence, for she smiled grippingly at him, exquisite and delighted, already savoring the triumph of the unintentional admission of his selfish interest in her.

“I just told you, Vegeta…” She whispered bucolically, her fingers grazing his jaw, despite having her frail wrists still trapped under his firm hold. “He was just an idea…”

“I am _not_ an idea, Bulma…” He murmured darkly, hands tightening in desperate warning, reminding her of _who_ he was, trying to stop her from ever forgetting that she was about to dance, quite literally, with the Devil himself.           

“I know…” She promised, her delicate face finding his, resting her brow against him as she held his starved gaze with unblinking confidence.

 

_She knew._

He was _real_ , perhaps the realest man she’d ever encountered, nothing like those Ivy League sycophants who used to prowl around her father’s mighty company, professional adulators trying to charm Capsule Corp.’s golden heiress, uselessly doting and kissing up to her, in hopes of getting into her bed and loaded bank account.

But this man, this untamable alien warrior, was anything but a charmer, he’d never lie or be untrue, because he was who he was, and nothing and no one would ever change that, or so he thought. Vegeta would never pretend to be something, _someone_ , he was not, if anything, Bulma had learnt by now that the Saiyan Prince seemed to go out of his way to make himself as unapproachable as he could, not because he didn’t possess a heart, but because he was utterly terrified of anyone finding out that he _did_.

She couldn’t afford the luxury to ever forget that, if she got too close, she might get burnt, but she also knew that the man trembling in need beneath her, staring at her with an intensity that would have made any other woman slip instantly away, would never pretend to be anything but fire.

 

Her binding words brought his surrender, arms dropping submissively on both sides, letting her merge her lips with his as her eager hands explored him, leisurely sliding across his heated skin until they found the nape of his neck, velvety fingers holding onto him as she boldly sought to deepen their kiss.

She could think of nothing but how surprisingly gentle he was, how anxious and untried, even after having already shared a first innocent smooch last night. His mouth was soft, twitchy, too afraid at first to part his lips for her as he did his best to follow her lead, indulging in an exotic human ritual that he’d seen before only in those ridiculous soap operas that the earthling’s mother seemed to adore so much and, of course, whenever he’d inadvertently walked in during one of the scarred-faced man’s visits to the woman who was now giving herself to him with such fervor.

He’d hated her mate back then, even before he’d ever toyed with the implausible fantasy of one day making her his, even before he knew what they did, or _why_ they did it, why did they engage in such a pointless practice with such irritating frequency.

But now he _understood_ , now, as he reveled in her intoxicating taste, grunting in exhilaration when her tongue lovingly caressed his, Vegeta learned the meaning behind such a gesture, an act that felt almost more intimate than sex itself, making him hate her ex-lover even more for having been given the undeserved chance to feel like this with her too.

The more he steadily relaxed in her arms, the more her supple body responded to him, arching and grinding in his lap, until the excruciating sensation of those ten little fingers passionately clutching fistfuls of his wild hair proved too hard to resist, temptingly inviting him to put his hands on her, encircling her waist with such force that her breath instinctively hitched in her chest, making his touch stop at once, petrified by the possibility of having hurt her.

“Ssshhh…” She shushed him with maddening tenderness, deeply moved by the touching concern blurring his features, and instantly calming him down by enfolding his thick forearms with her hands. “ _Softly_ … Like _this_ …” Bulma panted lightly against his lips, drawing slow, lazy circles on his wrists with her tiny thumbs, instantaneously loosening his possessive hold on her. “That’s nice…” She reassured him, nuzzling his cheek when she sensed him getting comfortable once again, learning how to hold her just the right way. “That feels good, Vegeta… Really _good_ …”              

 _Oh Gods_ , what a fool she was, what a pretty little fool, letting him near her, letting him _touch_ her like this. One wrong move and her ribs would have cracked beneath his fingers, and yet here she was, trusting him again, and taking his breath away by kissing him within an inch of her life, her erratic breathing accelerating as he run his hands all over her, cherishing that small figure hidden under the unbearable softness of her oversized sweater, while he wondered how much, just how much of herself would she give him tonight, and finding his terrifying answer when he felt those needy hands tugging impatiently at the hem of his clothes.

Vegeta needn’t think twice, groaning in frustration as he humbly submitted to her, breaking their kiss with reluctance and taking off his jersey in one quick, smooth motion. He didn’t move any further, barely keeping his breathless puffing under control as her enigmatic stare, now roaming across his naked chest, chilled him to the bone.

 _Hideous_ , he thought gloomily to himself, she must have found him absolutely hideous, utterly repulsed by that grotesque roadmap of macabre scars, cuts and bruises. His flawless Saiyan anatomy should allow him, in theory, to heal and regenerate at a shockingly fast rate, but his ghastly, self-destructive training regime was making it virtually impossible for him to ever be fully healed these days, always plagued by fresh wounds and swollen lacerations, purple-and-blue slashes that the sensitive woman would so expertly clean and stitch for him, every single night without fail.

He was unlike any other man in her life, and he _knew_ , nothing like those suave sons-of-bitches always prowling and lurking around her, with their expensive suits and leather briefcases, unscrupulous bastards who merely saw her as some attractive, wealthy trophy, instead of as the extraordinary creature that he now knew her to be.

After a painful silence, a secret part of him was already dreading the _very_ real possibility of the woman getting cold feet now that she had him, quite literally, bare before her stunned eyes. But, as usual, Bulma Briefs was about to prove that she was no ordinary female either, and that the cryptic gleam in her eye stemmed, not from any form of repulsion towards his flawed flesh, but from her own beautifully distorted view of the world.    

“Does it hurt?” She asked with candid concern, airy fingertips tenderly outlining the large scar crossing his marred chest, his most recent one, the one which had ended up prostrating him on that damned infirmary for a whole week this time. He’d taken off his bandages as soon as Bulma’s father had given him his approval and, though the disturbingly deep gashes had mostly healed by now, they still retained a faint pinkish color, a reminder that the skin wasn’t fully restored yet.               

“No,” he answered throatily, not knowing how he could find a way to even talk to her anymore, not when she kept looking at him like this, touching and exploring him as if she’d never had a man before.

“That’s good…” Bulma murmured almost inaudibly, her shy hands regaining their confidence as they swirled slowly all over his muscular torso, her touch light as the wings of a bird, playfully running her fingers up and down, right until the thick waist of his jeans, only to travel upwards again, tracing a languid path up to his robust shoulders. “You’re beautiful…” She quietly professed, awe-struck eyes meeting his, cupping his blushing cheeks in her hands, and catching one of his thirsty moans in her mouth when her lips descended on his for another sensual kiss. “You’re so _beautiful_ …” She reassured him, kissing him again, and _again_ , lustfully indulging in the most pleasurable friction as she rubbed her body against him, her fear of hurting him slowly fading away.

He _was_ beautiful, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, a body slim, yet built to perfection, moving, _flowing_ , with the sinuous litheness of a black panther. He may not have been the biggest of men in the physical sense, but he surely walked with a command larger than life itself, brave and resolute, fearless and tenacious, a courageousness that demanded respect, even from those who held him in low esteem. The man holding her in his arms had lived hard and battled even _harder_ , and perhaps, someday, he’d love with more intensity than any human heart ever could.

But there was no time tonight for fatuous thoughts of love and romance, there was only _now_ , only this moment, and the way he was disarming her, her body like clay in his hands as he kept kissing and imprisoning her in the fiercest hold, finally taking control as he carefully nestled and lifted her body from the ground, rolling them over and lying her defenseless on her back.

Bulma stubbornly refused to let go of him at first, her lips aching for more, always for _more_ , trying to make up for all the times, _oh Kami_ , all the times she’d envisioned him like this, giving himself to her with such abandon, allowing her to open his blinded eyes so that she could teach him her ways. But it was _he_ who put an end to their kiss this time, leaving her whimpering breathlessly on the extravagant rug, mourning the loss of his heat when he cautiously nudged her knees, spreading them apart as he knelt at her feet.

His large hands glided smoothly across her squirmy legs, until they found the perfect hips buried underneath her baggy sweater, dark eyes silently begging for permission to undress her as he hooked his fingers around the old fabric of the waist of her washed-out jeans, earning a shaky nod of assent from the restless woman inflamed with need under him.

The most enraptured glint burned his features as he slowly unzipped her clothing, pulling from it with gentle determination, and marveling at every inch of flesh unveiled just for him. When her lower body lay fully undressed, Vegeta paused for an instant, mesmerized by the hypnotizing effect that the warm glow of the sweltering fire had on her ivory skin, reds and oranges bathing those long legs already yearning to wrap themselves around him with ardent zeal.

Only when one of her feet boldly tried to reach the _very_ evident proof of his desire for her, right between his legs, did he choose to resume his erotic journey, deftly removing those cursed, fluffy pink socks which had recently invaded his daydreams with such shameful frequency, and crawling bit by bit atop her, sinking his knees domineeringly on both sides of her small figure as she awkwardly helped him take off her baby blue sweater, avidly waiting for him to make his final move.

Years later, the Prince would still recall just how insanely adorable she’d looked to him that night, clad in nothing but her everyday cotton underwear, plain white adorned by a girly pattern of those bright red strawberries she loved so much. Just like it would take him far too long to understand that she’d been just as nervous as he had, as if they’d both intuitively known, even back then, that once they gave into each other, there would be no going back.

“Do…? Do you want to stop?” Bulma asked weakly when she sensed his vacillation, tremulous mouth breathing heavily against his as he kept still, staring anxiously at her as he committed to memory everything that _she_ was, every beautiful curve and gesture, never wanting to forget her just as she was tonight.

Her insecurity moved him like nothing ever had, fervently putting her mind to rest with a smoldering kiss, basking in his own relief when she passionately kissed him back. A flash of scarlet seared his cheeks when her lips smirked playfully against his, giggling excitedly as she reached her back to unhook her bra by herself, when it soon became obvious that his clumsy hands had never before handled such a bizarre garment.

Vegeta’s hands hurried to get rid of whatever remained of his clothes, his need intensifying when her eager little fingers frantically reached down to his belt, unbuckling it with frenzied impatience as he unzipped his jeans, rapidly discarding them with the help of those feverish legs, wriggling and twisting against him until he was fully naked before her.

There was no indecision anymore, not even shame at the way his body was already reacting to her closeness, yanking off her panties as he kissed her again, a deep grumble reverberating in his chest when one of her hands draped itself around his hardness, while the other one settled fiercely on the back of his neck, pressing her mouth even harder against his, and nipping at his bottom lip as she sensually stroked his length.

Bulma’s movements were slow, _sensuous_ , dazed blue eyes feasting on the masculine face contorting in pleasure at her timid but expert touch, squeezing his eyes shut in some poor attempt at self-control as he felt himself already coming undone with agonizing ease, his dam shattering, hopelessly exposed to the only woman who’d ever own his heart.

 _“Bulma_ …” He implored helplessly, exhaling a heavy sigh of release when she guided him to her wet entrance, plunging inside of her, burying himself to the hilt as a breathless cry tore up her throat.

“S-Slowly…” Bulma pleaded, teasing his lips with hers, clammy hands still barely holding onto his corded neck as she struggled to accommodate him.

He quietly fulfilled her wishes, just as he always would, bowing shakily, and reading the poem writing itself on her lovely face as she threw her head back, sobbing in bliss when his hips set out a new pace, slow and deep, a rhythmic quest to get to know, and possess, every beautiful part of her.

It was _impossible_ , it was impossible for such a woman to ever fully belong to him, but perhaps, tonight, as they made love under the warm protection of her sheltering fire, they could pretend. They could pretend that he wasn’t who he was, and that every conceivable sin didn’t hang over his head, fooling themselves into the impossible fantasy of being just a man and a woman, giving into each other in the most ancient and primal of rituals.

Bulma’s rosy cheek met the opulent rug as she pressed it against it, closing her eyes and pouting deliciously, filling the room with soft, muffled moans that were like music to the Prince’s ears.

He held as tightly as he could, clutching one of the thighs possessively encircling his waist with one of his arms as he cradled her delicate head in the curve of the other, gently removing a damp curl from her pale forehead as his nose found her temple, nuzzling her darling face while drowning in her provocative aroma. Her porcelain skin was already coated in a thin sheen of moisture, glistening faintly under the warm, flickering radiance of the fire, and it was becoming impossible not to get lost in the thick, lusty scent of sex heavily permeating the air.     

“ _Vegeta…_ ” She whimpered with want, supplicant eyes finding his as her hands descended uncontrollably from his shoulders to his perfect bottom, nails digging into his unyielding flesh and pulling _harder_ , inviting him to rush that luscious, animalistic flow already making her fall into pieces in his arms.

His dizzy mind might have lost any semblance of reason long ago, but his body _knew_ just what she needed, gladly caving in, giving her his all, anything she’d ever want, by quickening his pace and thrusting faster, _harder_ , stripping the most extraordinary cries of pleasure out of her lips, and forever keeping them to himself.

He heaved a relieved breath of gratitude when Bulma hid her smitten face in the crook of his neck, never letting go of him, but sensing how vulnerable, how incredibly unguarded he was feeling in that instant. His body told her that he’d had other women during his turbulent past, but an even stronger instinct was screaming at her that he’d never had someone in such an intimate way.

And she was _right_ for, as Vegeta held securely onto her, glorying in that sweet, fluttery voice, whispering words of encouragement and desire in his ear, and confessing how much she liked, how much she _loved_ what he was doing to her, he knew that it’d never been like this.

He’d never had the honor to experience this wistful emotion taking a hold of him, loving hands touching and caressing him as if he were the only man in existence, or that rush, that exhilarating rush of satisfaction when he felt that small, hopelessly soft body writhing in ecstasy underneath him as her impending climax ripped through her.

She tightened urgently around him, a stream of blinding electricity ravaging her as she cried his name with intense ardor, crumbling in his arms, those ravenous arms pulling her even closer, insatiably nestling her body against him, already bursting at the seams, grappling with his own desperate need to succumb to her.

“I-It’s okay… You can let go…” Bulma’s trembling voice murmured into his skin, gently seducing him as she recognized the aching tension overpowering him, beckoning him to surrender, to forget about his every haunting inhibition and give himself to her, if only this once. “ _Let go, Vegeta_ …”    

The ghost of a string of alien words ruptured from his lips as he spilled himself inside of her, a deep grunt thundering in his lungs, swamped by the sensation of those silky arms and legs still clinging to him, never abandoning him, never letting go, relishing his own peak of pleasure as if it were her own.   

Vegeta fell tiredly on top of her, without thinking, without speaking, melting powerlessly under the soothing power of that pair of shuddering hands fondling and stroking his magnificent skin, kissing and petting his hair, and happily luring him to stay with her for as long as he’d ever want to, the sad atlas of tortured scars tainting his back suddenly feeling just a little closer, a little less foreign than it used to be.

A soft, snug blanket carefully covered his stark-naked form, enveloping him in a cottony cloud of safety, almost as soft as the woman providing it for him, heavy eyelids drooping on her contented shoulder, vaguely registering the distant uproar of the stormy blizzard pouring outside, and the crisp rustle of the logs gradually turning to ashes in her luxurious fireplace.

For a lifetime of carnage, snow had always signified the most degrading pain, and fire nothing but cancerous destruction. But, on a cold Christmas night, everything was _Her_ , and the first dreamless sleep he’d ever been blessed with as he peacefully dozed off in her caring embrace.        

       

                       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh*
> 
> It looks like Veggie finally got to discover what Christmas is all about?
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed my lil' Christmas stories so far! I know it's not Christmas anymore, but I may add a few more chapters in the future, if you guys are okay with it, since I had some little tales in mind that I really wanted to explore.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading, as always, and I hope you all have the BEST 2019!!!
> 
> *hugs*


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